


Tuesday Morning

by Sakurafox666



Series: Demon Days [2]
Category: Mythology - Fandom, Supernatural
Genre: Demons, Explicit Language, Gen, Hunting, Self-Denial, Trust Issues, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-11
Updated: 2013-04-11
Packaged: 2017-12-08 05:04:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/757365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sakurafox666/pseuds/Sakurafox666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Original story that takes place within the universe of Supernatural but no characters from that series are referenced or make an appearance.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Tuesday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Original story that takes place within the universe of Supernatural but no characters from that series are referenced or make an appearance.

* * *

The cold night air bit at Mal's fingertips while she dug up the grave. Hard grain wood against her hands, she sunk the shovel deep into the soil and lifted. Mildew lay on the grass now, frozen and glistening in the moonlight. Low mist glimmered near the ground and hovered, waiting to be taken by the sun at dawn.

"It's sad how familiar this seems to me now," Roy sighed from where he was perched atop the headstone. "Two years ago, this would've freaked me out."

"Two years ago you  _did_  freak out," Mal shoveled the dirt up to ground level. "You screamed like a little girl when I broke the casket."

"I'd never seen a dead body before! Now hurry up."

"Might go faster if somebody helped me down here."

"I'm keeping lookout."

"For what?" Mal hefted more dirt up. "There aren't any guards and we have a ring of salt around this area. That bitch isn't getting through," she paused, stripped her jacket off, and went back to digging. Hair matted with sweat, the gauze wrapped around her head soaked and mixing with the blood from her wound.

"You never know, ghosts are unpredictable. She could show up at any time and try to slaughter us again. Sorry, but I don't feel like getting thrown through another wall today."

"Dude, she barely touched you." Mal rolled her eyes and looked up at her partner. "At least she didn't fling a wooden table at your head," she scratched at her bandage, "although, I should've been paying more attention."

"Stop that," Roy said, "you'll just make it worse." He spun the shovel in his hand for a moment before meeting Mal's eyes. "You're ok, right?"

Mal shrugged and went back to digging. "I've had worse."

"Another sad part: your definition of 'worse' is much different than others."

"What do you mean?"

"Remember in Dallas?"

"Good times."

"Mal, they'd slashed your right arm open and you were pouring blood."

Mal just blinked at him.

Roy threw his hands up. "You've got a death wish. Move over, I'll dig."

"He finally does something useful." Mal smiled and climbed out of the grave, flopping onto the ground and releasing a huff of breath. It shimmered before her in the dark January air. She looked across to where a huge mound of dirt lay from their efforts. Almost there.

"Don't get used to it," Roy said, jumping down and taking his position. Mal rolled onto her stomach, relishing the feel of the wet grass against her arms. She moved closer to the headstone and looked down at Roy, one hand propped under her head.

"But, y'know, you got out of it okay," she said. Roy paused.

"Excuse me?"

"Dallas. The werewolves. You made it out fine."

"Yeah," Roy agreed, "by sheer dumb luck. Or, well, because of you. I swear, it's like you wanted them to kill you." He went back to digging, rather forcefully.

"I didn't  _want_  them to kill me," Mal frowned, "I've got better things to do than get ganked by a tiny pack of half-breed mutts."

"Right, your alpha."

"The Alpha."

"One day you'll tell me about that."

"No," Mal picked at her father's rosary that wrapped around her right wrist, "one day I'll just kill it."

"Then will you stop being so angry?" Roy asked, his back to her, still digging. Mal opened her mouth—

Wood fractured and cracked open beneath Roy's shovel, dust rising.

"And we're in!" Mal leaped up and leaned over the headstone to where her duffle bag lay, pulling out lighter fluid, salt, and a box of matches. The splintering of wood could be heard behind her as Roy ripped the casket open, nothing but pale old bones inside. "Let's do this." Mal walked over to the edge.

"I don't know what I want more: shower, sleep, or a drink." Roy sighed as he climbed out. Mal held out her hand and helped him up before handing off the salt. Roy poured it over the bones while Mal emptied the lighter fluid on them.

"I want coffee or a Rockstar," Mal finished with the lighter fluid and threw it back in the bag. "Dan sent me some new journals that I need to go over. There might be a reference to The Alpha in them." She pulled out three matches and lit them in one sweep, tossing them into the grave. Flames shot up and an haunting cry, like that of a lost lover, sounded in the distance.

"I hope this gives you peace," Roy looked at the headstone. "Martha Williams."

"Whatever, she killed ten people over the past fifty years. She can go to Hell," Mal shoved her hands in her pockets. Roy gave her a sidelong glance.

"You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do."

"She was murdered by her husband, violent deaths create—"

"Most murders  _are_  violent," Mal bit out, "and death isn't easy, but that doesn't give a person the right to go around and kill others just because they weren't happy with how they died. Ghosts like that, ghosts like her, they're just weak."

The shadows danced around the pair as the bones burned and a spirit died. The fire made a sharp contrast to the nip of the night air. In silence, Mal and Roy filled in the grave and patted it back down. The hunt was over. They walked back to the car where the sun was just starting to peak over the horizon.

"Mal," Roy said, sliding into the passenger's seat, "when you get back to your motel room, please just sleep. You need it."

"I'm fine," Mal said. She started up the car and pulled away.

"You had a wooden table thrown at your head...and it  _hit_. You need to change the bandage and you need to sleep. Just do it, okay?"

"Roy—"

"Please?"

Mal refused to look at Roy.

"Fine," she said, "but just for a couple of hours."

"Deal," Roy sighed and leaned back into his seat. He threw his arms over his eyes. "Thanks."

* * *

 

**Author's Note:**

> Hopefully you got a better sense of the characters in this piece. I really had fun writing Mal and Roy, Mal in particular took an interesting turn outside of her original arc.
> 
> As this is original work, feedback is most certainly appreciated and encouraged. Thank you very much for taking the time out of your day to read this.


End file.
